From “I Think I Can” to “I Can Simply Be”
When I was a little girl, I loved The Little Engine That Could.
I identified with that determined little engine climbing the mountain, repeating:
“I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.”
Those words became something of a personal mantra.
And looking back over my seventy-eight years, I understand why.
I grew up in circumstances that offered very little encouragement, security, or opportunity.
Yet somewhere inside me, there was a little girl who believed another life was possible.
I remember sitting beneath a willow tree in our backyard, dreaming about the world beyond the small Iowa town where I grew up.
I imagined living in a beautiful city.
I imagined learning, exploring, building a meaningful life, and welcoming people into a lovely home.
I dreamed of dinner parties with fresh flowers, candles, linen napkins, beautiful dishes, and wonderful food.
I imagined becoming a businesswoman, wearing tailored suits and carrying an attaché case.
I didn’t know how I would get there.
I only knew that I wanted a different life.
And somewhere inside, that little engine kept whispering:
I think I can.
The Strength That Helped Me Survive
For much of my life, determination was my greatest strength.
I kept going.
Through hardship.
Through disappointment.
Through mistakes.
Through addiction and the long journey of recovery.
Through the many times I had to begin again.
I learned how to push forward, how to accomplish, how to persevere.
And those qualities served me.
But I also began to recognize something about my relationship with strength.
Sometimes, what looks like determination is also a way of protecting ourselves.
If we keep moving, perhaps we won’t have to feel what is behind us.
If we keep achieving, perhaps we can finally prove that we are worthy.
If we keep climbing, perhaps we will eventually arrive at a place where we can rest.
But what happens when the mountain never seems to end?
When Strength Becomes Surrender
One of the most profound turning points in my life came when I was seventy-two.
After years of struggling, striving, and trying to manage my life through sheer determination, I reached a moment when I simply could not continue as I had been.
I got down on my knees and asked God for help.
I surrendered.
Not because I had stopped caring about my life.
But because I finally understood that I could not heal through willpower alone.
I needed help.
I needed grace.
I needed to learn a different way of living.
That moment began a new chapter in my relationship with myself.
I started discovering that strength is not always about pushing harder.
Sometimes strength means acknowledging that we are tired.
Sometimes it means asking for help.
Sometimes it means letting go of what no longer serves us.
Sometimes it means allowing ourselves to receive.
Surrender is not giving up. It is making room for life.
The Courage to Stop Climbing
Today, at seventy-eight, I still love the Little Engine That Could.
But my understanding of her has changed.
For so many years, I admired her because she never gave up.
Now I wonder whether the little engine might have another lesson to teach us.
What if, after climbing so many mountains, she finally realized she didn’t have to prove herself anymore?
What if she could stop at the top of the mountain and enjoy the view?
What if she could rest?
What if she could discover that her worth was never dependent upon how many mountains she climbed?
I think about how much of my life was spent striving to become someone.
Someone worthy.
Someone accomplished.
Someone lovable.
Someone who had finally overcome her past.
And now I am discovering something wonderfully liberating.
I don’t have to prove that I am worthy of love.
I don’t have to earn my right to belong.
I don’t have to accomplish one more thing to justify my existence.
I can simply be.
It’s Never Too Late
If there is one message I want to share from my journey, it is this:
It’s never too late.
It’s never too late to begin loving yourself.
It’s never too late to recognize your strength.
It’s never too late to reclaim your power.
It’s never too late to take responsibility for your choices and the ripple effect of your life.
It’s never too late to begin again.
I have learned that self-love is not self-indulgence.
It is a way of living.
It is how we care for our bodies.
How we speak to ourselves.
How we establish boundaries.
How we acknowledge our mistakes.
How we offer compassion to the parts of ourselves we once rejected.
And how we choose to show up in the world.
All love begins with self-love—not because we must achieve perfect self-love before loving others, but because the relationship we cultivate with ourselves influences every relationship we have.
The more compassionately we learn to treat ourselves, the more compassion we may have available to share.
The Little Engine Comes Home
When I look at my life today, I see traces of the little girl’s dreams everywhere.
I love learning.
I love teaching.
I love creating a beautiful, peaceful home.
I love cooking and welcoming people around my table.
I love meaningful conversations, spiritual exploration, writing, and sharing what I have learned.
My life did not unfold the way that little girl imagined.
There were mountains she could never have anticipated.
There were losses, detours, and years of struggle.
But there has also been love, beauty, discovery, and the possibility of beginning again.
And today, I am learning that the most important destination was never a particular city, career, home, or accomplishment.
It was coming home to myself.
The Little Engine That Could has carried me a long way.
For decades, her message was:
I think I can.
Then, through experience, it became:
I knew I could.
And now, at this beautiful stage of my life, her message is changing once again.
I don’t have to prove that I can.
I can simply be.
And that, perhaps, is a different kind of freedom.
With love,
Sandi
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